Prompt: Should ______
Should I fall?
I cling tightly to the branch, my grip weakening by the day.
Once a strong, silent green
now a vibrant, crisp orange
With each wisp of the breeze my resolve weakens.
To hang on means
to live even if only
Yet a voice in the wind keeps whispering that there is more.
To let go, to die to myself
would mean life
My remains would nourish generations to come.
A life not wasted
but invested in others
A brilliant freedom pulsed within me as I soared through the air.
Isn’t this what leaves were created for?